/Tohu Wa-Bohu/

Formless, void, chaos, and desolation:
undifferentiated matter and form;
whatsoever, Milton intuited
Chaos as timeless:
the Darkness
alongside the Earth ornament
dangling in space,
a bauble.
The white feathers rustle, then settle, brood
the dark-nested, watery, cracking egg.
State of the singularity on the edge
of the expanding mainspring of spacetime,
the serpent goddess wakes and unwinds
from the ground-of-being
the lotus crown.
Quantum coils in the water pot,
the storm bolts mete the falling dragon
into the gears on the spindle:
the apportionment of the four elements
onto the bony forces branching
from the primal coccyx,
and the chakral spine—
Tohu wa-bohu predates all,
from heavens and hells.

Keeping Warm

The icy hand of Death
starts with the feet,
reaches up from the
cold ground,
wants to pull you down
for a nice boat ride.
How long before one
gets fully embraced by
The Chill varies.
Best to keep plenty of
wool socks on hand
and dress in layers;
could be a long winter.
Hot chocolate! Almost
forgot the hot chocolate.

Paper Waits

page of
paper waits
to be marked up
with lines and stanzas,
verse laid down with guidelines
strictly observed without fail,
the cadence of syllables met,
just the right word at just the right time—
a collage of phrases all puzzled out
for aesthetic effect when quoted out loud
or inside the mind that marvels at connections
between ideas and metaphors that draw meanings
of subtlety from some overarching theme or motif,
employing the tools of craftwork, literary devices
that jazz up the poesy and highlight the vision with precision
and with lyricism that reverberates like bells in a courtyard,
the toll floats on the late breeze toward sunset and fades out into echo.



Increment [Eko]


Nightfall [Biter]

Veiled teal,
stars wheel.

Revel [Trier]

Drink the wine !
Dance in time !
Joy be thine !

Flatworm [Quarter]

with no tube in–
side is all for
gas diffusion.

Glass Eye [Fiver]

Bill “the Butcher’s” glass
eye brings quivers stark,
from the knife-tip glance
on the crystal arc—
peal:  an icy trance.

Tirukkuṛaḷ Rules [Septer]

Couplets on morality
and ethics form the vision:
Tamil book for India.
The spear of bloodletting rests
for the staff of righteousness.
The kingdom withers under
the baton of submission.

The Witch [Ahter]

The crone in her hovel alone
chants by fire crackling under plants
and parts, once having hearts and bones.
Cackles ring from circled incants
of bewitched verses stitched in skin.
The chemic cauldron smokes splenic:
the din stops, the goddess steps—yin
drawn white in the Yule dawn, scenic.




The aroma of newsprint and coffee
as the sun clears the shadows of night,
the experience of unfolding
folio like the golden mean,
the thickness reverses to crinkle
before the flattening snap of order.
Twelve points in a pica,
six picas in an inch:
every inch on the plate, Pulitzer—
all crash and no blossom.
Blueline the bleedthrough of headshot scandal
above the fold, a spotlight headline
from the fourth estate,
correspondents with ironclad sources,
an incendiary nut graph
for the hawkers and newsies
to bump up the circulation.
Stitch and trim the page proof;
pull out the polybags;
the wet morn waits for the bulldogs.


Amphibian Spread



The umami swamp air mushroomy,
the frogs croak on green lily-pad plates,
their meringue eggs frothy at the rims;
tadpole dumplings simmer in the soup.
The perfumed world waits to be feasted
by Anura with geschmackssheibe for
screening savory comestibles
from bitter injurious tidbits or
sour: fermented, acidic, rotten.
Efts emerge from gelatin dessert
as smoky salamanders sizzle,
dunking in psychotropic brandy.


A Paleness Then Thrown

A paleness then thrown
spreads like manic wildfire avaricious, tinning cultures
OTHER—a windfall amassed by spacial underpinning,
a construct of religious license:  a mask for murder
and ransacking ample stores from the indigenous.
Colonists dismiss their brothers and trample their brain-trusts;
unholy !, monopoles rupture annals, sequence amiss
under tragedy skies, circles of vultures persistent,
odor of rot under the surface lasts for centuries.
No more:  the golden tapestry of African custom
across the continent where hominids first stood upright.
No more:  the floating gardens, the moon and sun pyramids,
and the pigmented, sacred stone of the Americas.
No more:  the three-sister agriculture, wigwam lodges,
canoes, or powwows as nations sundanced near buffalo.
No more:  vast numbers of brown collectives, some of them named,
some cut from the margins of archives in disavowal.
Ghosts of the lost and dead haunt the blood-soaked trails of tears;
displaced, the list is long, the havoc unforgivable.
Lamentations for the fallen under the plow of progress,
from clans to cities organized over lifetimes before
a paleness then thrown.